Still at Zennor ( see previous post) we had lunch at the Old Chapel Café. I discovered Cornish crab, which I afterwards ordered every chance I got. As we were leaving I got engrossed in seeing how an old iron ship part functioned as a doorstop. I pulled it away and watched the door swing  Read the Rest…

Our Celtic Spirituality Morning gave way to lunch at The Cook Book in St Just. Once a bookshop/café, now it’s a café with books for décor. I ordered a plated salad after it was explained to me that a plated salad is salad on a plate. I had an image of latticed and braided vegetables  Read the Rest…

Wendy drove as fast as she would allow herself to get to the Botallack mine by sunset. The evening was cold and the wind never stops blowing in from the Atlantic. Yet quite a large group had gathered. A young woman sat cross-legged on a rock that jutted into the sea and waited. Others waited  Read the Rest…

Welcome to Port Wenn! If you are a fan of the series Doc Martin, you’ll appreciate the reference. If you aren’t, read on. We went other places, too. The day began at the cottage in Morvah with the usual tea and breakfast and me asking Sue and Wendy what they remembered from the day before  Read the Rest…

Monday morning–my first sugarless day– I was awakened by the sound of birds singing and cows moo-ing: Since I was still the only one up, I went round the cottage filming the window fixtures and talking to myself: When I finished this catalog of domestic quotidian, I took off my glasses to polish a lens  Read the Rest…

Sunday was my day of reckoning for all the cake in my system. In the morning we drove into St Ives, Wendy parked in the car park and we rode the shuttle bus into the heart of town. The car park/shuttle is really the only solution for these villages with narrow streets never meant for  Read the Rest…

Wendy, Sue and I set out for Cornwall early afternoon and I got a feel for the pattern of the days. Everything is a reason to stop for a cup of tea and probably a slice of cake. (The English have a real gift of the cake.) I think our first stop was to celebrate  Read the Rest…

Castle Cary is a market town in southern Somerset but I only know it as the train stop for Butleigh where my cousins live in a stone house with five cats and a rabbit hutch used now for pegging up the washing. Sue met me at Castle Cary; David, her neighbor had driven her. I  Read the Rest…

(This is the final entry in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) The third week of June was a strange time to be in London.  Brexit was approaching its vote.  A beloved MP, Jo Cox, a strong advocate of immigration, had been assassinated outside her constituency office in Yorkshire.  The country was  Read the Rest…

(This is the twelfth in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) I’ve wanted to see Canterbury Cathedral for as long as I can remember.  Never more so than after I read The Canterbury Tales a few summers’ ago.  It was on the itinerary for Wednesday but I almost didn’t go.   There were  Read the Rest…